


Unsaid But Not Unspoken

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Betazoid, F/M, Porn, Secret Crush, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 14:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17982623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: Pike shook his head. "Fine, I'm old-fashioned. I just think dipping into people's thoughts is rude."





	Unsaid But Not Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> I thought "Betazoid on Discovery" and then I had a page on telepathic ethics. Idek, these things happen. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1019544.html).

As they walked to the transporter room to greet the Ambassador, Michael couldn't help but notice Pike's usual commanding swagger was...muted. 

In fact, ever since he'd taken the Admiral's call, he'd been unusually somber. No, that wasn't quite right. Grumpy. He'd been _grumpy_.

"Everything all right, Captain?" she asked, keeping her tone mild. 

Pike glanced at her, frowning. "That obvious, is it?"

"Only to those you who know you, sir. Is there some additional aspect to this mission that I'm unaware of?"

If possible, that made Pike even grumpier. "Unfortunately not." 

Michael frowned, trying to puzzle it out. Pike was usually more forthcoming than this. "Do you have a history with the Ambassador?" Abruptly, Michael realized what kind of history a man like Pike might have. A captain of some stature, the pride of Starfleet, and one who looked like _that_. It was entirely possible they were walking into a...prior emotional entanglement of his. 

Michael instantly shut down that train of thought. As she always did. 

Even if it was getting harder and harder to do. 

Pike shot her a look, like he was a little offended. "Gimme some credit, please. I'll have you know, I get along famously with all my exes. No, the only thing I know about the Ambassador is she's Betazoid nobility."

He couldn't seem to help the emphasis on Betazoid, some hint of dismay lurking there. 

"You have a problem with Betazoids?" Michael asked, surprised. She'd never known Pike to be prejudiced in any way, toward anyone. It was out of character, especially with respect to Betazoids, who were renowned for their peaceful intentions. 

Pike sighed and shook his head. "Not as such. I just believe one's thoughts should be private. Some Betazoids I've met have...disagreed. Demonstratively."

Understanding swept through Michael. She smiled, indulgent. "I think I'd like to hear those stories." And anything else he wanted to say. 

But Michael was ignoring the part of her insisting on that. 

Pike shook his head. "How does it not bother you? People poking around inside your head." 

"As a child, I would have given anything to be able to connect like that. To be like all the other kids," she said, hearing the wistful note enter her voice.

Pike's expression softened into something sympathetic. Still, he shook his head. "Fine, I'm old-fashioned. I just think dipping into people's thoughts is rude."

"Perhaps the perception of rudeness goes both ways. In a culture of honesty, thinking one thing and saying another would be incendiary."

"Perhaps," he allowed. "All I'm saying, there's a reason I didn't take the diplomacy track."

As they approached the transporter room, Michael looked at him, sly. "Why so worried, Captain? Harboring impure thoughts?"

Pike narrowed his eyes at her. "That'll do, Commander."

Michael smiled as they walked in, Pike nodding to the crewman standing by. "Energize."

After a moment, the Ambassador and her valet materialized. While the valet was gray and unremarkable, the Ambassador wore a rich, dark green gown that hugged her curves, revealing more skin than Michael expected. Honey blond hair was pulled up in elaborate curls, tendrils framing her face, her eyes intense. One corner of her mouth lifted when she looked to Pike.

"Ambassador Ibri, I'm Captain Pike, this is Commander Burnham. Welcome aboard the _Discovery_ ," Pike said with a polite nod. 

"Thank you for the welcome, Captain. Hopefully our journey together will be short. I'd hate to keep you away from your important work." While her words seemed innocuous, her tone was anything but, somehow both amused and pointed. She knew he didn't like this mission, she was letting him know that she knew, all while subtly mocking him in a way no outsider could question. It was a fairly skilled power move, if you were into that sort of thing. 

Ibri's Betazoid-black eyes slid from Pike to Michael, studying her for a beat, before moving back to Pike. Her half-smile bloomed to a full one, delighted by something. 

Pike's jaw tensed as he gestured for her to follow them out the door. "Your quarters are this way."

"My temporary quarters, you mean." Then, without waiting for a response: "Lead on, Captain. I can't wait to learn the ins and outs of your ship." 

Michael frowned. She had a feeling _the ship_ wasn't what the Ambassador was interested in at all.

***

"Maybe you're reading too much into it. I mean, none of that sounds bad," Tilly said, popping a raw broccoli floret into her mouth. 

"It wasn't what she said. It was how she said it," Michael clarified, fork toying with the sautéed carrots on her plate, the only remnants of their late lunch. For all the beta-carotene they contained, she really found them quite unappetizing.

"Yeah, but the captain's, like, minted from Starfleet's Captain Awesome Factory. _And_ he's hot. What's to make fun of there?" 

"That is the question."

Tilly brightened with a thought: "Maybe she likes him."

Michael put her fork down and pushed her plate away, sitting back. "I don't think that's it."

Tilly looked to Michael's plate, then back to Michael, furrowing her brow in confusion. "Okay, what's all that?" She waved her hand, indicating Michael's whole...something. 

"What do you mean?"

"Your whole...everything just got all wonky."

Michael sighed. "Nothing got wonky, Tilly."

Tilly's eyes widened in realization. She sat forward, urgent, voice low: "You don't _want_ her to like him."

Michael crossed her arms over her chest. "That's absurd. Why would I care either way?"

"That is the question," Tilly said, pointed. And if the speculative gleam in her eye said anything, she had an answer. Before she could drill into Michael some more—

"Burnham, might I interrupt?" 

Michael looked over to find Pike approaching, nodding at the two of them apologetically.

"I was done anyway," Tilly chirped instantly, grabbing her tray and bolting out of her seat. She tripped over her own feet, staggering, but she righted herself at the last second. "I'm good, I'm good!" Then she was gone. 

Pike looked back to Michael. "Is it me or is she getting more awkward?"

"It's a process, Captain. What can I do for you?"

"A favor."

Michael raised an eyebrow, gesturing him into Tilly's recently-vacated seat. He took it with a sigh, something resigned in the line of his shoulders. 

"It must be some favor."

"I hate politics," he said, frowning. 

"So you've said."

"The Ambassador's arrival obligates me to have dinner with her tonight."

"Ah," Michael said, already seeing where this was going.

Pike clocked that and smiled a little, appreciative. "Quick on the uptake as always, Michael."

His use of her first name made something inside her curl in pleasure. She ignored it, looking at him evenly. "You'd like some company, then?"

"I'll take a get of out jail free card if you got it."

"Fresh out, I'm afraid."

"Then yes, I'd like to enlist your skills as a xenoanthropologist and someone intimately familiar with telepathic cultures to be my shield at dinner tonight."

Michael smiled, sympathetic. "Give me a time and I'm there."

Pike smiled back, nodding gratefully, but there was another layer to it she couldn't parse. "I can always rely on you," he said, almost musing. 

"Of course. I'm here for whatever you need."

Something in Pike's smile tightened at that, going brittle and maybe...uncomfortable? Michael couldn't grasp it. "Tonight. 1900. See you then." And with a couple knocks against the table, he was gone.

Michael looked after him. What had just happened there?

***

Dinner was oddly anticlimactic. The food was good. Ibri wore an entirely different, equally-revealing dress, red this time, but she was charming, regaling them with amusing tales of the process of secularizing Betazoid's ruling regime, as required by Federation rules. 

She also knew Sarek, so she and Michael already had a baseline of shared experience from which Michael could draw. It was thus fairly simple to keep up a steady stream of conversation, cycling through their education, experience, and visits to each other's home worlds. 

For his part, Pike made contributions here and there, but seemed content to let Michael lead, smiling encouragement at her every so often. 

Michael dipped her spoon in the decadent chocolate mousse that made up the dessert course. She didn't usually indulge, but she saw no harm in it here. "My one regret is I never did make it to the Janaran Falls," she mused.

"Well, the Jalara Jungle can be treacherous. Still, if you ever return, you should make the effort. But bring a special someone. It's wonderfully romantic." Ibri's eyes slid to Pike then, smiling. "Have you ever been, Captain?"

Pike blinked, like she'd said something notable there instead of asking an innocuous question. "I've never visited Betazed." He took a bite of his own mousse. 

"You're welcome anytime," Ibri assured him, her tone shifting just a shade, but Michael picked up on the difference. This no longer seemed like polite dinner talk. 

"I'll keep that in mind." Pike seemed to pick up on it, too, his cool reserve firmly in place. 

Ibri smiled, then looked down to his glass. "Goodness, you haven't touched your wine at all. Don't you like it?" Michael noted with interest that Ibri was right; Pike had taken one sip and hadn't touched it since. 

"It's lovely, but I try not to drink while I'm on duty."

Ibri held his look, smiling again. "I'm a duty, am I?"

"We're all bound by it in different ways."

Ibri's laughter rang out like bells in the wind, light and feminine, an appreciative undertone to it. "You know, you may hate diplomacy, but you could have done well there."

"Did I say I hate diplomacy?" Pike asked, light, but it didn't reach his eyes. 

Ibri shrugged, a careless, artless thing that was somehow also a shade seductive. "Call it an educated guess."

"Speaking of education," Michael jumped in, pulling Ibri's focus. "I wonder, Ambassador, have you ever had the chance to visit the Vulcan Science Academy?"

Ibri smiled and touched her hand, eyes warm. "You're delightful, my dear. I can see why your captain values you so."

Pike shifted at that, recapturing Ibri's attention. She eyed him speculatively for a moment, then seemed to decide on something. "Captain, there's something I've been wondering. While I know the Federation has no codified rules on telepathic behavior, what's your read on unofficial attitudes?" 

Michael shuttered her expression, but was inwardly surprised Ibri would just up and ask. Wasn't diplomacy usually about talking _around_ things?

Pike studied Ibri for a moment and Michael could see him weighing how to play it. Deflect, address, lie? The latter probably wasn't smart to do with a telepath and all. 

Finally, Pike inclined his head. "The Federation certainly appreciates the strategic value telepaths bring, though I have seen some discomfort at non-telepaths being put at such a personal disadvantage."

"Why cast it as a win-loss scenario? You could frame it as something that just...is." Ibri spread her hands, _no problem here_. 

Pike half-smiled. "Because it's asymmetrical. You as a telepath have an advantage over me, the human, because you can read my thoughts. If you so choose," he added, pointed.

Ibri leaned in, seeming engaged in this clinical discussion. "I wonder, have you considered that this reaction might come from a deeper fear of being made emotionally vulnerable?"

This really didn't seem like a clinical discussion.

"While it may not be the case on Betazed, vulnerability is a choice for humans," Pike mused, wholly reasonable, like this didn't affect him at all. "Telepathy undermines our ability to make that choice."

"Having information is not the same as releasing it."

Pike huffed a laugh. "You know, there's an old Earth saying that applies here: 'information wants to be free.' I've seen people's truths treated quite carelessly. And I find public humiliation...unkind."

Ibri cocked her head, seeming intrigued by that. "But why equate truth with humiliation?"

"Not all truths need to be spoken," Pike said, his voice lowering to a dark rumble that sent a shiver up Michael's spine.

Michael should not be responding like this. For one thing, it was very clear they were having an entirely different conversation than the words coming out of their mouths. For another...Pike was her commanding officer and she needed to keep her reactions in check. 

It really was very difficult when his voice went low like that, however. 

"But what's the harm?"

Pike considered that, expression conflicted, like this was something that troubled him. "Sometimes unsolicited truths put people in awkward positions, which is also unkind."

"And sometimes assumptions about how truth will be received are..." Ibri drawled, seeming to search for a word. "Ill-conceived," she finished, pointed again. 

That seemed to land on Pike, making him blink. "Unless telepaths can see into the future, they can't know what the fallout will be. Besides, how is that their call to make?"

"Is it so wrong to want to increase the happiness around you?"

"Do you see how it might be considered...meddling in other people's affairs to make that choice for them?"

Ibri sat back, _hmming_ thoughtfully. "Perhaps."

They held each other's eyes for a long beat, neither saying anything. 

Michael decided that was her cue. "It's getting late." She turned to Ibri with a smile. "Thank you for the conversation, Madam Ambassador."

Ibri returned her smile, seeming to switch from intensity to charm in a blink. "And you, Commander. Give my regards to your father when you speak with him."

"I will." She turned to Pike, intending to say goodnight, only to find him standing to join her. "Captain?"

"I'm about to turn into a pumpkin, myself. I'll escort you." That was odd, but Michael simply nodded. 

Pike turned to Ibri, bowing formally. "A pleasure, Madam Ambassador."

"Captain," she returned with a nod. 

And with that, Pike ushered Michael out. 

***

Once they'd walked a full corridor away, Michael turned to look at Pike. "You want to tell me what that was about?"

"Not particularly."

"Sir."

Pike sighed and met her eyes. "It's nothing to do with our official duties."

Michael studied him, clocking how he seemed worn at the edges. "Are you all right, sir?"

Pike nodded, but he smiled ruefully. "Command is the loneliest job in the world, Burnham. Never let anyone tell you different. But yes, I'm fine."

Michael put a hand on his arm. It surprised him enough that he stopped and looked over at her. "It doesn't have to be. You can rely on others," she insisted, part of her wanting to take on some of the burden she sensed in him. 

"I can always rely on you, Michael. I know that." There was something unsettlingly intense about his gaze then. Michael flushed, though she didn't quite know why. She also didn't look away. 

Pike did that, stepping back so that Michael dropped her hand. "Goodnight, Commander. And thank you again."

"Anytime," she murmured, watching as he walked away. She didn't understand the tension still pulling his shoulders tight. 

She didn't understand. 

***

Pike pushed her back onto the bed, his mouth red and wet as he followed her down, his lips taking hers in a thorough, _scorching_ kiss. Michael moaned into his mouth, twining their tongues together, arching into him as he ran clever hands all over her naked skin—slipping down her arms, over her breasts, lower. 

She gasped as long fingers teased at her wetness, one slipping inside her, confident and sure. "So wet for me," he breathed against her mouth, adding a second finger and starting to thrust. 

" _Please_ ," she whispered, already starting to shake, gasping into his kiss. 

"I can always rely on you, Michael," he whispered back—

***

And Michael _snapped_ awake, gasping, clenching around phantom fingers that weren't really inside her, though her body didn't yet realize that, wet and _wanting_. 

She looked around wildly, but no, she was in her own quarters, Tilly already gone for her early shift, no captain to be found. 

Michael shoved her hand down her sleep pants, fingers following the path Pike's took, playing over herself, pleasure sparking up her spine. She worked herself quickly, light fingers over her clit, already _so close_. It wasn't long until she was shaking and shuddering through an orgasm, the memory of Pike's face looking down on her, eyes hot, tipping her over the edge. 

As her heart rate calmed and breathing slowed, Michael stared blindly at the ceiling...all the pieces falling into place. 

Her own reaction to Pike. His preoccupation with telepathy and revealing truths. Ibri looking from Pike to her with that glint in her eye. _I can see why your captain values you so._

_It's nothing to do with our official duties._

Michael shivered. 

***

"I _knew_ you wanted him," Tilly cried, triumphant. "Also, how dare you hold out on me like that. If you have a crush, I should know about it. How else am I supposed to be your wing-woman?"

"That is...not the point right now, Tilly."

"Okay, that's fair, but we're coming back to this. So, wait, what's the problem?"

Michael gestured helplessly around their room. "Everything. Everything is the problem."

"I don't get it. Now is when you jump his bones. Duh."

Michael stared at her. "Do I seem like a person who does that?"

"Oh, right, you're really bad at the whole casual sex thing," Tilly remembered.

"I am _really bad_ at the whole casual sex thing," Michael agreed. 

Tilly clapped her hands, like a particularly supportive coach. "Perfect opportunity to work on it. This is called being set up to spike, my friend. You already know he wants you."

Michael shook her head. "I _think_ —"

"Nah, it seems pretty clear to me."

"Besides, he's the captain—"

"Captains deserve sex, too."

Michael sighed. This was getting her nowhere. "I feel like I need more clarity before I can make a decision about the best course of action."

Tilly nodded. "By all means, logic your way through wanting to bang that man like a screen door in a hurricane. That will definitely help things." 

Michael looked down, once again struggling with how to handle a situation that everyone else just seemed to _get_. She could never catch up to her peers in some ways. 

Tilly sighed and moved closer, sitting next to her. "Sorry. I know this stuff is hard for you sometimes. You're so good at literally everything that I forget."

Michael huffed a laugh, but it wasn't happy. "I think it's pretty clear I'm not good at everything."

"Hey, we all have room to grow. So look, the way I see it, if you need more clarity, you gotta go talk to that gorgeous slice of man."

"Yeah. And how does that conversation go?"

***

Michael took a breath to calm her racing heart, then entered Pike's quarters, finding him at his desk, reading over a report. He tilted his head at her, curious. "Michael. What can I do for you?"

Michael moved toward him, smiling to cover her nerves. "Apologies for the late hour. I had a question about last night and I...didn't want to wait anymore."

Pike shook his head. "Last night?"

"Dinner with the Ambassador. I thought about our conversation, and some other things, and I—I had a question for you." Michael winced, realizing she was repeating herself. 

Pike's expression closed off, going distant and professional in that way he reserved for his official position. His captain mask. "Shoot."

Michael straightened her spine and looked him right in the eyes. "Is it possible—that is, I mean to say, I thought last night you might've been talking about—do you...want me?"

Michael saw it land, the tiniest micro-flinch around his eyes. He didn't look away, so she could watch his expression shift, turning into something remorseful. Or maybe it was ashamed. 

Pike sighed, like this is exactly what he didn't want to have happen. "First, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to—"

Michael stepped forward, putting fingers to his mouth, cutting him off. "No, wait."

Pike looked up at her as he breathed _out_ , her fingers tingling from the heat. Michael realized what she'd done and snatched her hand back, shaking it. 

Pike's eyes tracked the move, something startled in them. 

"I didn't ask you because I wanted an apology. I just—is it true?"

Pike stared at her, something impossibly warm there, underneath all the concern. "Yes."

Michael nodded, swallowing the thing burning hot and tight in her throat. "Okay."

Then she took the last two steps forward and leaned down to grasp his face, pressing her lips to his. 

Pike made a soft noise, his hands coming up to cover hers lightly as he kissed back, careful but with undeniable heat under it. Michael indulged for a moment, learning the softness of his lips, feeling the scrape of his five o'clock shadow. 

Then she pulled away, letting his face go. She straightened and stepped back. "That's all I wanted to say."

Pike stared at her for a moment, his eyes somehow rooting her to the spot. Then he nodded, slowly. "Okay."

Before she could turn to go, Pike stood, moving _into_ her space, arms going around her and pulling her to him as his mouth _took_ hers, the kiss wet and hot and devastating. This was a declaration, a claiming, and Michael's body _got it_ , electricity zipping through her.

He cradled her close, all bunched muscle, and Michael was suddenly slammed back into her own body, hit with all the want that had plagued every moment since she woke up from a dream about him. 

Pike broke the kiss and pulled back, hand coming up to cradle her face. "I have a lot more to say," he murmured, voice low and rough and full of sex.

"Okay," she breathed. 

***

The dream had been hot and slick and intoxicating.

The reality was _orders of magnitude better_. 

Pike— _Chris_ —stripped her down and pushed her back on his bed and touched her _everywhere_ , gentle fingers stoking the desire that was already making her tremble. He followed his hands with his lips and tongue and all she could do was gasp and writhe and plead for more. 

When he finally sank into her it was like closing a circuit, just _right_. He interlaced their fingers, taking his time, thrusting into her at an achingly slow pace so that she felt it _everywhere_. He kissed her like he couldn't stay away, noticing what made her breath hitch and then ruthlessly exploiting it. 

Michael could barely hang on, legs curled around him, nerve endings pouring too much pleasure into her brain, sensory overload. When she couldn't take it anymore, he finally relented, fingers pressing between them, his fluttering touch over her clit just _perfect_ —

The orgasm was so good she blacked out. 

***

Ibri smiled at Pike as she stepped onto the transporter, everything about her tinged with smugness. "Thanks for the ride, Captain." 

Michael hid her answering smile, but Pike just shook his head, exasperated. "Good luck in your mission, Ambassador."

"Like I need luck."

Pike nodded to the crewman and in a few short moments, Ibri and her valet were gone. 

Pike turned for the door, Michael falling into step with him. "I ever see her again, she's going to be insufferable."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you didn't take the diplomacy track," Michael said, not bothering to hide her amusement. 

Pike was about to say something else when he clocked the hitch in her stride. His eyes skated down her form and then back up again with a knowing, heated look. His lips quirked. "Then again...maybe diplomacy's not so bad."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
